


Baby You Know

by eriemis



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (please do), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/F, M/M, POV Alternating, Tags will be updated, also i spell viktor with a k and yuuri with two u's, and this is gonna be more humorous than serious bc i can't write, characters will show up as the story progresses, fight me, i have no idea of what i'm doing someone hold me, more of a rival spy AU tho, spy AU, this is my first fic???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eriemis/pseuds/eriemis
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is one of the worlds greatest spies. The rush and excitement has worn off a bit, and now he finds himself bored. During one mission, he spots a beautiful stanger. Viktor takes immediate interest, but it seems as if the stranger has more surprises up his sleeve (quite literally) than he could ever imagine.Basically: Rival Spies!!! They try to best each other through more and more ridiculously elaborate plans, end up trying not to kill each other as they are forced to work together, and maybe, just maybe, fall in love.(They totally fall in love this is Viktor and Yuuri y'all)EDIT: I just started uni so I'm going to have to put this on hiatus for now. I really want to continue this story, but at the moment it feels better to put it on ice (lmao) than to leave it open.<3 thank you and love you all lots!!





	1. We don't need fancy drinks and penthouse suites

**Author's Note:**

> bc i’m a sucker for spy/cop movies and i’m definitely a sucker for spy AU’s so here I am, like a fool, with my own. 
> 
> This is sort of inspired by Mr. & Mrs. Smith, The Man From U.N.C.L.E, and the fic bang! now we're even by Authoress.  
> (Even tho it's a different fandom: go read it. It's one of my favourite fics and it's soooo goood) 
> 
> ((Since this is supposed to be funny as well I feel obligated to include Johnny English as a source of inspiration))
> 
> Title and chapter names are all from Diamond Days by Cruel Youth (album art is kind of freaky, body-horror sorta, just so you are warned. I wasn’t. And now here I am writing fanfic instead of doing homework. help)

**Moscow, Russia**

 

As many of these things go, their story started in a banquet hall. Or, rather, at the bar in one of Moscow’s fanciest hotels.

 

It was a party ― an excuse for investors and businessmen to drink and flirt with pretty guests ― mainly for the benefit of rich people to boast about their richness to their rich friends. Tedious and drab, but work was work. Although not the kind of work as most other partygoers.

 

Viktor Nikiforov, here as Mikhail Romanov, the chief data officer of an uprising telecom company, was one of the world's best spies.

 

At least, he thinks so; it’s quite difficult to measure brilliance in the shadowy ghost-world of intelligence and operative agencies.

 

Viktor takes in the room, the high ceiling with no less than eight chandeliers, the small orchestra closer to the windows, the bar opposite of them with a sprinkle of high tables close by, and the crowd of chattering guests. He picks a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, and moves around under the appearance of wanting to look out the ceiling-to-floor, window-covered wall, when in fact he wanted to scope the balcony over the entrance, where there were two guards standing on each side of a double door. Surely, the doors led to a grand conference room where the client he’d been hired to protect would conduct negotiations with some multi-billion dollar company. He wasn’t supposed to be listening to the meeting itself; and it didn’t really matter to him, but since the client hadn’t arrived yet, he had decided to be difficult and insist on joining.

 

He knew he looked like any other party guest and not really like the most demanded international spy, or like the businessmen with their tumblers of hard liquor and their fat cigars. He was in his most dressy three piece suit, fully emblazoned in a Davy’s gray jacket with a pinstriped vest and  pants, a light wisteria-coloured shirt with a tie and a pocket square in deep byzantium. It would be a struggle to get the suffocating stench of smoke out of the suit, so maybe he shouldn’t join the meeting, he mused to himself, before his earpiece crackled to life.

 

 _“Main system to Rex, come in Rex,”_ came the smooth voice of Viktor’s accompanying tech support in his ear.

 

“Read loud and clear, Chasmo. Awaiting package drop,” he answered, and took a sip from his glass of champagne.

 

_Too dry._

 

He surveyed the room once more; there were three main exits out of the banquet hall, but they were all surrounded by burly guards, who were doing a terrible job of appearing covert with their looping wires to their ears and dark sunglasses. Viktor contemplated his exit routes; if things were to go south, he could always either fight or jump through a window, something which would definitely contribute to Yakov losing even more hair. It was quite a distance down, nothing a human would survive. He’d probably need a grappling hook, or a bouncy castle, to break his fall. A really large bouncy castle, that is.

 

 _“I know you’re thinking of how to make this mission more difficult for le patron, and as your best friend and comms support, I’m telling you not to. This mission is, as always, very important and everything needs to go smoothly,”_ Christophe’s voice reprimanded him. Viktor merely hummed in response. It did look weird to talk to yourself, all alone at a party like this. _“Also,”_ Chris continued, _“this kind of tech can help us, too. If we were allowed to use the database, we could reach and keep track of our undercover agents better than before.”_

 

Viktor knew this. Yes, all jobs nowadays seemed to be about malware programs, codes and chips and drives, everything digitalized and electronic. He was only twenty-seven, he wasn’t supposed to feel old about not having to have an intense car chase over some dusty documents anymore. Twenty-seven wasn’t even old for a spy, but it suddenly felt as if he had to take it up a notch and work even harder when there were terrifying new agents ― like Yuri Plisetsky, a junior agent advancing at a frightening pace, ― to give him a run for his money. Viktor knew he was stronger and a better agent that Yuri, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he’d surpass him.

 

Yuri had wanted to come for this mission, and when he was denied he argued ― yelled, even, with the full force of his lithe fifteen year old body, and when that hadn’t worked he’d taken to stabbing the table with his personalized Rosarms, ― but ultimately he was to sit this one out. Viktor did like Yuri, it was fun to rile him up and Viktor always loved a challenge, but for all he reveled in electronic-based work and technical fighting style, he lacked in intelligence work, communication between clients or targets, and pure brawns. Chris and Viktor also once tried to simplify it to him as to say he needed to brush up on his _James Bond charms_ , an end to a conversation they barely escaped with their lives intact.

 

So here he was, fifteen minutes into a mission, with no sight of the package, _― “they’re clients Vitya, God, you scare me with that kind of talk,”_ Yakov had told him more than once _―_ and he was bored.

 

Bored at the party, bored at the job, bored in general.

 

The view outside the window showed the grand shape of the Kremlin surrounded by twinkling lights, as well as the swirling water of the Moscow River. He could hear faint noises from the streets below, the bustling and shuffling of pedestrians, the soft hum from car engines, the swell and slump as the city breathes, all mixed with the slow waltz the band was playing.

 

By now, his glass was empty, and he started making his way over to the bar. During his slow progression of weaving between the partygoers on the dancefloor, he saw _him._

 

Sitting all alone at the bar, with only a glass of champagne to keep him company, is a man in the most dull and frumpy suit Viktor has even seen. His tie is an obnoxious shade of cornflower blue, and overall, this clothes look like they’ve seen better days. His hair is onyx and slicked back; it looks softer than anything Viktor’s ever seen before. He can only see the man in side-profile from where he stands, and he can see he wears blue _― not the same blue as his tie, this is an international offence, ―_ half-rimmed glasses. He has soft but angular features, and Viktor can tell the suit doesn’t do his figure any justice at all. The man seems seems a bit nervous, and the way he bites his lower lip and scrunches up his eyebrows in concentration has Viktor stopping right where he stands.

 

_This is the most beautiful man I have ever seen._

 

 _“Main system to Rex, come in Rex. Why have you stopped? Do you see something? Rex, do you read?”_ Chris’s voice shakes him out of his reverie. He begins walking again, just even slower than before.

 

“Yes, Chasmo, I read. Sorry, I _―_ There’s this _―_ You see, _―”_ he tries, but the man is taking a sip and his delicate fingers that hold the glass as well and the movement of his Adam’s apple is making Viktor lose all coherent thoughts.

 

_“There’s a what? Another agent?”_

 

“No, no, nothing like that. Just _―_ Chris, I wish you were here in person I think there’s an actual angel in front of me.”

 

 _“...I’m pulling data on your physio state, there must have been something in your champagne,”_ Chris snarks over the line. _“In the meanwhile, explain them to me. What do you see?”_

 

“Oh, Chris, it’s devastating. He should be in a Zegna, not whatever abomination that is. He’s _adorable,_ but I’m pretty sure he could lift me over his head and I’m _feeling things_ just thinking about it, and _―_ he has to be Asian; Japanese, I think. He ― His face, Chris, I’m telling you, he has to be a model. He’s here with Diane Von Füstenberg, there’s simply no other explanation,” he rants, steadily moving closer to where he sits. The man shifts a little, Viktor sees slim shoulders and narrow hips, and wonders how rude it would be of him to ask the man to remove his clothes, if only to make him change into something worthy of donning him.

 

 _“Your stats are surprisingly fine. He really must really be pretty,”_ Chris muses in his ear. Viktor is so close to him, but not enough so the man can pick up on Viktor’s conversation. _“What are you going to do?”_

 

“I’m going to ask him if he can take me against a wall until I can’t remember my own name,” Viktor mumbles breathlessly.

 

 _“Yes, atta boy ― no, wait the mission, Viktor, the mission!”_ Viktor sighs, almost in annoyment, but turns around so he’s facing the entrance once more.

 

“They haven't even arrived yet, we have Georgi surveying the perimeter, I’ve scoped the insides. I can afford to kill some time,” he answers. “You’ll tell me when they do arrive, and I’ll get back to business. No one here is going to do anything until then.” Viktor turns back to the man, and he can’t hear Chris’s response because _the man is looking right at him and wow, he’s even more beautiful up close, what the heck?_ Viktor hardly even notices he’s moved until he’s barely a few centimetres apart from him.

 

Viktor manages to speak right before enough time has passed to make it uncomfortable. “Uh, um _―_ Hello there, can I _―_ may I take a seat here?” Viktor inwardly curses himself for tripping over his words, but the man’s glasses have slipped down to reveal the most soulful eyes of burnt umber with flecks of gold, and yet Viktor’s focus is almost cruelly forced away from them when the man opens his mouth to speak.

 

“Go ahead,” he answers, and as if obeying a siren’s call, Viktor numbly perches himself on the barstool, and cheers for himself that he didn’t accidentally fall on his ass instead. The man has a voice that could coax flowers to grow, he’s never been so sure of anything else.

 

 _“Suave, Mr. Nikiforov. Smooth,”_ Chris drawls through the earpiece, but Viktor chooses to ignore him, once again favouring the other man’s face.

 

The man gives him a funny look, almost as if he’s about to smile, but then he seems to shake himself out of it. Instead, he stretches his hand out to Viktor, and says, “Yuuri Katsuki. And you are?”

 

Viktor is too busy trying out _Viktor Katsuki_ in his mind, so he nearly messes up and responds with, “Viktor,” _―_ and Chris let's out a shocked _“Merde,”_ before Viktor manages to salvage something from his undercover profile, _―_ “Viktor Romanov,” he finishes, and clears his throat while they shake hands. There’s that funny look on his face again, but once more it is gone before Viktor really wants it to.

 

 _“Okay, first of all, that was very stupid of you. Secondly, I think I remember hearing that name from someone, keep talking to him, I’ll run a check,”_ Chris voice grows fainter as he removed the headset. A small part of Viktor is glad Chris is no longer buzzing about; he’d definitely have trouble keeping up a conversation with either of the two men at the moment.

 

“Who are you here as, Mr. Romanov?” The man is facing him full on, and Viktor spared a thought in panic of having his cover blown.

 

“E-Excuse me?” Viktor squeaks instead, and once again mentally kicks himself for stuttering. Also for squeaking. He’s twenty-seven, not twelve, for crying out loud.

 

“I mean, are you here with a business? Or are you just here as a guest? You certainly are dressed up for a party,” he _― Mr. Katsuki, ―_ smirks over the rim of his glass as his eyes roam unabashedly across Viktors form. Viktor feels his face start to burn.

 

_Get a grip of yourself, Nikiforov._

 

“Company, _―_ I’m here with my company. I’m the CDO of Telco Enterprises,” he manages, “And you, Mr. Katsuki?”

 

“Oh, the new starter company, right? You guys seem to be doing quite well,” he says. “I’m here with one of the investment banks, not nearly as prestigious as a CDO.” Viktor finds himself almost offended; why isn’t Mr. Katsuki the president of the bank? Simply put him in the right suit and he certainly would look the part.

 

That thought sends a distant bell ringing in Viktor’s mind, but he dismisses it in favour of finally being able to put in a flirty comment.

 

“Investment banks? I would have thought you’d be here with a modeling agency for sure, someone as beautiful as you must be in high demand,” he purrs, and leans in closer. Undeterred, although a little redder himself, Mr. Katsuki fixes his gaze straight into Viktor’s eyes.

 

“Or maybe I’m just that exclusive, but buy me a drink and I might humour you,” he says.

 

 _“Oh, man, I like this guy,”_ Chris chuckled through the line, occupied with the shitstorm that is Viktor’s flirting.

 

Viktor rips his gaze away to call for the bartender, and when they both have a gin and tonic each, they begin to strike up conversation. He learns that Mr. Katsuki, _― please, call me Yuuri,_ he had said, _―_ likes poodles and is, in fact, from Japan, but moved to Detroit for studies which turned into job opportunities, and is now in Russia for business. Viktor has never been to Detroit himself, but mentally notes down to ask Yakov if there might be any jobs in that area so he could perhaps run into Yuuri again.

 

 _No point in putting it any other way,_ he thinks.

 

At the prospect of meeting Yuuri another time, Viktor’s thoughts start spiraling, and before he knows it he blurts, “Do you have a lover?” Over the course of their conversation they had inched closer and closer to each other, hushed details and opinions shared in the small space, but the question has the other man almost jumping away from him.

 

Mr. Katsuki looks shocked for once, and Viktor tries to desperately backpedal with, “No, wait, I’m sorry, that was silly of me, um, ― let me tell you about my past lovers!” and he almost wants to yell at himself to stop saying such idiotic things. Chris is very unhelpful in his ear, and also quite possibly passed out from laughing too much.

 

But at a noise Yuuri’s gaze flitted over to the entrance, and when Viktor's inevitably followed, he saw the client.

 

_Not good._

 

Chris curses in his ear.

 

He needed to get over there and make himself present by the client’s side, who was now, after a quick scan of his surroundings, moving towards the windows. More importantly, however, he needed to end things on the right foot with Yuuri. Before Viktor can say anything, Yuuri starts to stand up and button up his tasteless jacket.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to keep those thrilling stories until next time. I just saw someone I need to greet. I’ll see you around, Mr. Romanov,” he said with a small smile. He seemed nervous again, and Viktor almost wanted to reach out and hug him. He barely restrains himself instead, and also stands up.

 

“An unfortunate end to such fascinating company,” he says, and takes Yuuri’s outstretched hand in his once again. This time, however, he does not shake it. Instead, he moves it up to his mouth, and presses a light kiss to his knuckles. Viktor peers up at Yuuri through his lashes, and is pleased to find the other man blushing. “Until next time indeed.” Viktor reaches into his jacket to retrieve a small square of paper, ― a faux business card, but a real number that Viktor could arrange for Yuuri to reach him through, ― and saunters off into the crowd to meet the client.

 

_“What on Earth was that.”_

 

“I won’t mention the fact that you didn’t track and warn me about the package, if you swear to never mention this to literally anyone,” Viktor hissed through clenched teeth.

 

 _“Hmm, no, not happening. You’re making progress towards the client despite neither of us noticing him,”_ he pronounces _client_ clearly, and Viktor is once again reminded of Yakov. _“Now, I might not tell anyone, but you can’t force me to ignore the goldmine that is your novice flirting. How have you made it this far in life?”_

 

Viktor choses not to grace Chris’s jab at him with a response, and casts a look behind him to find Yuuri, but the other man is nowhere in sight. Chris knows Viktor, knows he isn’t usually so befuddled when it comes to flirting. _Novice flirting,_ ― yeah, not since at least ten years back in time.

 

The client is just a few metres away from him.

 

_International super spy mode: activated._

 

“Mr. Zhào?”

 

The man turns around, and that’s all he ever does before a gunshot is heard and he crumples to the floor. Viktor draws his own gun and swivels around, eyes darting all over the place to find the perpetrator, which is a near impossible task in the now frenzied room. Panic erupts in the banquet hall as people start screaming to _stay down_ , or _hit the exits!_ Chris’s voice is yelling in his ear, but he can’t make out what he’s saying.

 

Blood seeps into Mr. Zhào’s shirt like a crimson flower in bloom. Viktor has seen the realization of death hit many people before, and isn’t particularly fond of it. He looks away, be it out of fear or respect, ― _to find the damn gunman,_ ― he still isn’t sure. One person deviates from the dispersing crowd to lean down at the dead man.

 

A delicate hand, one Viktor’s own lips were upon no less than three minutes ago, reaches down to pick a small flash drive from his inside pocket. Viktor’s eyes widen until he’s sure they’re just about to pop out, as Yuuri stands up again and places the flash drive safely inside his own pocket. His gaze slides over to Viktor, and the smirk he sends him is downright _electrifying._

 

Before Viktor can say anything, or even raise his own gun at the other man, he's released a shot again, this time into the window. Glass falls around them like lethal confetti, and Viktor ducks, but Yuuri starts pulling his suit in odd directions. As it falls around him, Viktor is astounded to see that under all those drab clothes, he’d been hiding ―

 

A wingsuit?

 

_Oh._

 

“Until next time, Mr. _Romanov_ ,” he says in a way that makes Viktor question if Yuuri ever really bought the cover at all. If _Yuuri_ even is his name.

 

“Wai―”

 

But Yuuri had already jumped.

 

And Viktor was left, in the now vacated banquet hall, with death and destruction.

 

Soon those burly guards, ― who’d been the first to flee the scene, ― would be back to investigate.

 

Viktor would have to return to Yakov with Chris and Georgi, with his first failed mission since his advancement from being a junior agent. That would not be particularly fun.

 

He needed to get out of there, ― _“right now, guards closing in, get up Viktor!”_ ― Chris reminded him.

  
As soon as he could pick up his jaw from the floor, that is.


	2. But I'm Already Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri is cold and a bit anxious, and Phichit's hollering can be heard down the corridors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chap is here! Now I’m gonna begin with saying that I don’t exactly know when I’ll be able to update again (at least there is comfort in knowing that it’s not gonna be regular (stab me)) bc of school and such. But I'm working on it!
> 
> Also I know letting Yuuri jump out of a building in a wingsuit might have been too,,idk optimistic??? I wanted it for the #DramaticEffect   
> Anyway there’s a reason I’ve decided not to pursue physics academically lmao

**Moscow, Russia**

 

Yuuri fell through the air, straight towards the freezing depths of the Moscow River, further and further away from the banquet and Viktor _Romanov._ As if Yuuri, one of Japan’s dime-a-dozen spies, wouldn’t recognize _The_ Viktor Nikiforov.

 

The world's greatest spy.

 

At least, he was according to Yuuri, but it is quite difficult to be certain of these kinds of things. According to Minami, his team’s resident medic, _he_ was the greatest spy in the world.

 

_Yes, and in another world we’re all figure skaters._

He continues his descent and carefully swoops down onto a docked boat, and starts to hurriedly remove his gear before law enforcers show up. He mentally whoops at his landing; Guang-Hong still has a faint scar on his hip from the time the two of them completely missed the landing platform. There was a crowd gathered right at the hotel, many of who must have seen him jump out of the building. Yuuri knew he could trust Phichit to hide the public coverage of his escape, but naturally no one could actually remove the witnesses memories.

 

Well, some agencies went as far, but the brain was something Yuuri did not want to meddle with. He suppresses a shudder at the thought. Or the cold. Probably the cold.

 

He removes the wings of the suit to use it as a wetsuit, and leaves the rest of the gear in a pile to be collected by the clean-up squad. He goes to stand at the stern of the boat, steels himself, and jumps into the cold river.

 

The icy water takes a suffocating grip on him, and Yuuri bursts up to breathe just from the shock of it. After a few gasping breaths he starts to feel the chill slowing down his movements, the numbness planting its root in his limbs. He decisively takes a big gulp of air before submerging himself again.

 

He only needed to swim a few twenty metres or so, just to get to the inconspicuous van where Phichit and Seung-gil would be waiting. In the cold, however, time also seemed slower.

 

_Why couldn't they have parked closer?_

 

He finally dragged himself up a rusty iron ladder, and promptly collapsed in a heap on the pavement. Yuuri doesn’t allow himself a minute to catch his breath; he knows he needs to get moving and get out of the sopping outfit. Arduously, he makes his way to the van and raps his knuckles twice fast, twice slow, and twice fast again for them to open it from inside. When nothing happens Yuuri knocks again, but still no one opens. He walks around the van to see the driver and passenger seats, which are empty.

 

 _Where are they?_ The cold is almost too much for Yuuri now, the shivering is taking control of his body, breaths coming out in short, puffy clouds. He slumps against the van and thumps his head back onto it a few times.

 

Yuuri surveyed his surrounding area, and spots another van a few metres away. Before he can make his way over there, the door bursts open and he is greeted with the familiar face of Phicht. Yuuri heaves a sigh of relief as Phichit rushes to his side with a blanket bunched up in his arms. The sigh makes him cough and splutter and worry etches its way onto his friend's face.

 

“What took you so long?” Phichit asks as he drapes the blanket across Yuuri’s shoulder and leads him to the right van.

 

“Took the wrong van,” Yuuri rasps in response. He really hopes he doesn’t become sick from this. They climb into the van, Phichit sends a nod to Seung-gil in the driver's seat, and they're on their way. Yuuri fishes out the small drive from a watertight pocket inside his gear and jiggles it in front of Phichit who lets out a happy whoop. He hands it over to him and Phichit immediately gets to work with the computers in the van. Yuuri suppresses a chuckle at his eagerness.

 

Phichit turns back around to face him with a question and both of them nearly avoid smashing their heads together as Seung-gil takes a sharp turn. Seemingly unperturbed, Phichit opens his mouth to speak when a speedbreaker makes him snap his mouth shut like a trap and sends them both flying out of their seats.

 

“Seung-gil! Take it easy, we’re―“

 

“We are behind schedule by four minutes, and therefore have half an hour to get to the helo,” he interrupts. “Please hold on.” Yuuri can’t help but feel bad for delaying them, and the unspoken blame hangs heavy in the air. He swallows thickly and is just about to apologize when Phichit’s hand squeezes down on his shoulder, making him look up into the other’s eyes. Yuuri can see understanding swirling in his grey irises, letting him know that as much as Seung-gil considers being meticulous down to the minute of great importance during missions, there simply are things one cannot take into account before they occur.

 

“Are you feeling any warmer now, Yuuri?” Phichit asks instead. He wraps the blanket closer to himself and hums his assent. Phichit seems content with that, and swivels back to the computer. Yuuri knows Seung-gil never means to be outright rude, but missions get all of them all kinds of frayed and nervous. He knows he himself changes almost when it comes down to missions; the team has said they hardly recognize him sometimes.

 

The rest of the drive passes in silence apart from Phichit’s small quizzical hums or short snorts at the information on the drive. Officially, it was supposed to contain new information-storing possibilities of a software program, but in reality it contained a list of corrupt members of a massive PC corporation. Yuuri told himself that it would be alright; they were a bit delayed, but he knew Seung-gil could take them to the helicopter in time, and it did feel good to know he would be a part of bringing the unethical actions of CEO’s into light and justice. Even though no one would know he specifically did it.

 

Being a spy suited Yuuri almost perfectly. It was an occupation in the shadows, a job without recognition but not without gratitude. He’d been part of breaking trafficking rings, removing Dragon Heads, and one time he’d managed to prevent civil war just by dropping a cockroach into the negotiation room. Although he would never receive anything close to resembling a medal for his work, he knew he was a part of making the world a safer place for the larger part of the global population. And he was currently making things a bit more difficult for the agency of a certain Russian. The thought alone almost makes a shaky smile cross his face.

 

Yuuri knew he was a bit foolish to think he could ever hold a candle to the great spy, but he marveled at the fact that he had actually managed this mission in any case. Being a spy was not only exciting, nerve-wracking, and adrenaline-included work, it was also incredibly dangerous. A small slip-up could be the difference between living another day or not.

 

He might not hold a candle, but he certainly was playing with fire.

 

Yuuri used to be like Phichit, a man behind screens and wires, far away from the danger itself. During a mission a few years back, the operative agent he was covering was _‘put out of commission’,_ as the more diplomatic phrase goes, and it was up to Yuuri to complete it alone. It had not gone without its bumps and hindrances, but ultimately Yuuri had done brilliantly in the given circumstance, and was put in training to be a proper field agent.

 

Yuuri was never as good as Phichit when it comes to computers, but he had been a respectable hacker next to him during their first years in the agency. Phichit might join Yuuri in the field, someday, but for now Yuuri is thankful to have his best friend to talk him through missions.

 

Yuuri is rudely shaken out of his reverie as the van screeches to a halt inside an indoor parking garage. Phichit snaps the laptop in his hands closed and Yuuri sheds the blanket to pick up two duffel bags of gear and equipment. He hands one over to Seung-gil in silence, and they all climb out. Seung-gil peers around the van, and when he’s certain that they are alone they begin to work their way up to the topmost floor, where a helicopter is waiting for them.

 

Seung-gil held up his wrist to his mouth, “Team Electus en route to Seychelles,” and Phichit stopped in his tracks to muffle a groan against his hands.

 

“Why did we let Seung-gil be in charge of the code names for this mission? We knew he’d pick parrots. He _always_ picks parrots.” Phichit turns his head towards Yuuri, and he can almost _feel_ the remorse in his words. Seung-gil just rolls his eyes and continues to walk.

 

“It’s not like you’re much better, either you want hamster breeds or characters from your favourite movie. And you always have to be the protagonist! That isn’t going to work in your favour if an enemy discloses the code names,” Seung-gil snarks back at him. Yuuri focuses back on climbing up the stairs, but he can hear Phichit comically imitate Seung-gil behind him.

 

Once they reach the final steps there is only a rusty, red metal door between them and a H125 Helonix. Yuuri delivers a swift kick to it, one that sends his bones jarring but thankfully bursts the doors open anyway. Leo had not been as lucky during one mission, but the embarrassment had hurt more than the twisted ankle.

 

The rotor blades are already spinning, so the three of them duck and sprint towards the open door. Once inside, they fasten their seatbelts and put their headsets into position.

 

“Ready, boys?” The voice of the co-pilot crackles in their ears, and Phichit sends him an affirmative thumbs-up. A second later they’re up in the air.

 

* * *

 

**[Retracted], Russia**

 

The three of them went their separate ways after landing, to return gear and switch clothes, in Yuuri’s case sneak in a quick shower as well, before meeting up with the head of their agency.

 

Minako Okukawa was a retired, internationally renowned super spy. She was behind several assassinations of government officials and radicals during the civil war in Rwanda, she had stolen precious artifacts from secret fortresses hidden in the Alps, and now she was the executive in charge, and trained new agents.

 

For the more technical-based agents, a man named Celestino Cialdini worked around the clock with trainees to be able to work as comms support during missions. He was a kind man with a big smile and even bigger hair. More often than not, Celestino was referred to as his hacker name, Ciao Ciao. Yuuri and Phichit had both worked with him for a few year, and Phichit would often help him between operations.

 

Right now the two of them were sitting on opposite ends of a long conference table when Seung-gil, Phichit, and Yuuri entered. They gave courteous bows in either direction before taking their seats.

 

After a few beats of silence Minako speaks, “I’m glad to hear the mission went well. We already have the next team taking care of the following steps, the clean-up squad is on their way back, and Leo is working with the local police, the witnesses and the media to keep the story hidden,” she says. “Now all that remains is the report from you.”

 

All three of them explain the proceedings of the operation, filling the others in on the specific positions and statuses of each step in the plan. After the formal debriefing, Ciao Ciao and Seung-gil stand up and leave in order to attend other duties.

 

“See you next time!” Phichit waves his goodbye and shoots a smile to Seung-gil, who turns an interesting shade of red before muttering something in response and closing the door behind him.

 

And that’s when Phichit starts re-telling the mission in an exaggeratedly gossipy manner.

 

“Minako, you should have seen it! He had _the_ Viktor Nikiforov slipping up and almost telling him his real name!” Minako throws back her head in laughter. “Greatest spy, my ass! Yuuri is dangerous when he gets into his role. He never stood a chance!”

 

“My, Yuuri! What was it like, to lead astray and seduce the _oh so great and mighty_ Mr. Nikiforov?” Both of his companions zero in their eyes on Yuuri, all giddy smiles and mischievousness, and he feels a blush scorch its way up his face.

 

“I ― I didn’t seduce him! We were just talking,” he waves his hands in front of his face in a desperate attempt to defend himself. Phichit levels him a deadpan stare, before slamming his hands down on the mahogany and leaning across towards Minako in excitement.

 

“He gave you his _number,_ fake or not, he clearly meant the implications! You didn’t see it, but we had a wonderful high-def view of the whole spectacle. He was practically _drooling_ , Yuuri, next time you need to wear something more, ― what’s a good word, oh! ― _alluring_ , something that shows off your swanky-lanky form,” Phichit says confidently. “That suit was great for the mission itself, but it was unfortunately hideous. Viktor looked like he wanted it off of you as well,” he adds.

 

“I’m ― What?” Yuuri splutters. “I,” he closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, “I can’t help but feel as if this was a one-time-wonder. He’s the greatest spy in the world, he’s never going to let something like this happen again.” Yuuri wrings his hands in his lap and refuses to look up at the others.

 

“Yuuri, you can’t afford to think like this. When people fail, they learn. So take this perfect opportunity to jot down and investigate his failure. You can learn something from it too. You are too much of a great agent to not take on more challenging and difficult missions, and that’s where he will be. You need to create some waves around you, and what better way to do that than actually complete a job in front of the one and only Viktor Nikiforov?” Minako’s softer tone makes Yuuri peer up at her.

 

Phichit can almost not help but chime in, “It’s quite the difference seeing you during and after missions, it’s like you’re a completely different person!” Yuuri manages a small laugh at that.

 

“I know, I ― I’m going to go up against Viktor with all I’ve got,” Yuuri says, pleasantly surprised at the steady determination in his voice. Phichit hoots and shakes Yuuri’s shoulders excitedly.

 

Minako smiles, and stands up to look out the window. Her gaze flits across the city beneath her, weariness not daring to slump her shoulders. This is the woman who made Yuuri who he is. Celestino was a huge part of it as well, yet Yuuri knows he would not have developed so much without the almost motherly protection and aid of his fellow countrywoman.

 

“You’ve caught his attention, Yuuri. Now you need to make yourself known.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I can't help but feel like this is a bit rushed, but I hope you liked it! If you did, don't hesitate to give a kudo or write a comment!
> 
> Thank you to those of you who have already liked and commented, you made my day <3
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter will be out soon (I say, even though I am the one who decides all that)


	3. I Pray To Hells Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so this is set like a week after the events in the first two chapters, and basically after Viktor got his ass handed to him by Yuuri he gets served again by Yakov
> 
> Also I don’t mean to be mean to Georgi he’s a beautiful drama queen but it sort of fit so

**Saint Petersburg, Russia**

 

It was certain to be a sullen day in Saint Petersburg. Viktor made no haste to the DVD rental shop that doubled as the entrance to the agency, but Makkachin seemed to know that Yakov was going to spend the better part of the next hour angrily yelling at his owner, and dragged him forwards through the slushy morning.

 

As expected, Yakov had not taken the failed mission well. But as much as he had roared at him, Viktor knew the old man cared for him. After so many years as an active agent, he prided himself on noticing the small shifts in emotion and behaviour of others.

 

He had seen pity in Yakov’s eyes, he had heard the worry when he paused for breath.

 

It did not look good to have the prodigal agent fail a simple security operation, and Viktor had spent the majority of the past week re-telling the mission in embarrassment. The rest of it was spent in Christophe’s apartment, since he didn’t live in the agency’s living quarters he did not have the same strict living rules and conditions. So Viktor had taken to downing his failure in Chris’s seemingly endless supply of red wines, and spilled his thoughts about the mission that were too lorn and wistful for his official statements.

 

_Yuuri Katsuki._

 

Viktor had never even spared the thought to think the man could have been an agent at the banquet. At least there was comfort in knowing that Yuuri wore his hideous suit out of necessity, not style. Viktor had not been able to get the enticing and devious agent out of his head ever since he’d managed to escape the building himself.

 

There was disappointingly little information available regarding the evasive agent, yet that didn’t deter Viktor; it only made him want to find out more about the other man. They had received help from the agency’s international branches, but they were mostly European or African, and did not have that much information on a seemingly novel Asian agent either. Chris had processed most of that information, but they were still assembling his profile. Viktor’s aggravation and woes spurred the investigation team to work even harder, all in fear of having the agent dramatically drape himself over them and grumble about the missing pieces and his own ineptitude.

 

In the late nights where Viktor was sober enough to work through the little information that was available he had Chris by his side to nudge him out of more destructive moods. Without Chris, he still had Makkachin, who wouldn’t let him spend too much time wallowing in the murky depths of self-pity either. The dog, trained for detection and therapy, is almost too smart for Viktor’s own good.

 

Makkachin comes to a stop outside the door, and Viktor caught his own reflection in the shop’s window; hastily assembled suit, windswept hair, haggard slump. It looked as if he had aged forward ten years. He straightened his back a little and took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

 

He then proceeded with staring down indignantly at said door when it refused to budge. Viktor tried pushing it a few more times, growing increasingly tired at its unwillingness, when he finally noticed the little sticker on the glass indicating to _pull._

 

Yes, now he remembers. Yakov had the door changed after Viktor, Yuri, Georgi, Anya, Mila, even Christophe at one point, and several other agents had taken to kicking the door open in haste. Right.

 

Viktor pushes the door open with a heavy sigh, and Makkachin happily trots in before him. An electric bell rings, signaling their entrance, and a sleepy shop assistant blearily looks up. Apart from him, the shop is deserted. Viktor raises his hand in greeting but the teenager only slumps his head back onto his crossed arms over the counter. Makkachin knows where Viktor is headed and lets him amble his way through the shelves towards the back of the shop where they for whatever reason still store VHS tapes. He skims his fingers over the backs of the covers, until he reaches a copy of _‘Dr. Zhivago’_ with considerably less dust than the rest of the surrounding tapes. Viktor sneaks his index finger underneath the cover to press against a fingerprint scan, and after a few seconds the shelf moves inwards and aside to reveal a downwards spiraling staircase. A cold breeze ruffles Makkachin’s fur, but the dog starts pulling Viktor down into the dark without a bother.

 

In Viktor’s opinion, they probably do have enough money in the budget to have a more flashier entryway, one that could make the walk to the head-quarters less medieval and gothic, and more modern, suitable for super spies like himself. His architectural ponderings usually fall on deaf ears, however.

 

The bottom of the staircase leads to a low-ceiling, brick walled corridor, lit up by large candles hanging down, which just adds to the mystic romanticism Viktor would rather live without. A big rat scurrying across his feet rips a startled yelp out of him, and Makkachin strains against his leash to chase after it. Once agent and dog gathered their wits, they continue through the passage until they reach a large valve door. A retinal scanner stretches out towards his face and Viktor leans in with his eyes wide open. Makkachin doesn’t have to have a retinal scan, but a tag on his collar is detected and the two of them enter.

 

The Saint Petersburg HQ consists of long, dimly lit tunnels and small rooms, much like an ant farm, Viktor muses. Here they focus on training, researching, investigating, creating new agents, all to strengthen the agency and report back to the… ant queen, Yakov.

 

_Well, maybe not, then._

 

It’s nothing like the grandiose HQ of Moscow, where they use a bank as a frontier for the agency, with proper offices and gear, and _daylight._

 

Viktor is lead through the winding corridors by Makkachin, unsurprised yet uneasy at the silence that is only interrupted by his footfalls and the dog’s soft huffs. Once they reach a nondescript door Makkachin raises his paw to scratch at it, and Viktor is careful to note which way it opens, before he swings it open. Inside, seated around a ― _glass, classy,_ ― table are Chris, Mila, Georgi, Yuri, and Yakov.

 

“I’m very glad you could take your time and join us _today,_ Vitya.” The old man has a sour expression on his face, irritation boiling beneath the surface.

 

“Oh, Yakov, what kind of way is that to greet your most treasured agent?” Viktor smiles, conspicuously wide, and takes a seat, crossed legs and arms. He can see Yakov’s jaw working double-time to keep him from shouting so soon.

 

Yuri beats him to it. “ _‘Treasured agent’_? How about major disappointment?”

 

Viktor’s smile turns razor sharp. “But we’re not talking about Georgi?” Mila and Chris try and fail to suppress their snickering, and the other two only continue scowling at him.

 

Yuri knows Viktor, knows he is an idiot, a monster, a powerful weapon in the secret society of spies, and begrudgingly, the best damn agent in the world. He knows Viktor, at the age of 27 he has years of experience in undercover and intelligence ops, and he is far from a disappointment. But all those credentials make his failure even more stark; a blank space in a cabinet full of medals.

 

Once, Yuri had aspired to be like Viktor, but now he knows he needs to be better than him.

 

“Anyway, I thought I finally earned a day in peace and silence, do tell me why you called me in.” Mila stands up before Yakov pops a vein at Viktor’s curt tone. She moves to tap at a large screen on the wall, which lights up and displays an image of Yuuri. Viktor sits up straighter and leans forwards on his elbows, too entranced to notice the sly look on Chris’s face, or the disgusted one on Yuri’s.

 

_Hm. Yuuri and Yuri?_ That was going to be disorienting. He’d have to come up with something to make the distinction clearer.

 

Yuuri, Japanese Yuuri, is wearing civilian clothes in the image, retreating from the vicinity of the camera. His rapid gait is frozen and his head is turned enough to get a full view of his face. His eyebrows are furrowed behind his blue frames, lips drawn to a line.

 

Mila clears her throat and Viktor’s focus reluctantly shifts over to her. “This is Yuuri Katsuki, probably one of Japan’s best agents since World War Two, 23 years old. This image of him was taken four hours ago in Detroit. Supposedly, he is still in the States right now. We do not know much about him, he’s quite the elusive one and has not until recently been a field operative.” Viktor finds himself oddly touched that Yuuri had given him his real name.

 

“We know he’s been trained under Celestino, Katsuki is actually a notorious black hat who had then gone by the name _‘Eros’_. Investigation could only find so much, and that itself is impressive,” Chris finishes.

 

“Wait, what do you mean he's Eros? Eros is a syndicate, an organization! The work they’ve done is impossible to do alone, there’s no way in hell that that pig was able to do what they did all by himself,” Yuri’s annoyed voice cut through the air, punctuated by his fist slammed on the glass. Viktor spares one second to feel relieved that it didn’t break.

 

Yuri was an astounding agent, brilliant and prodigal, not much unlike Viktor himself at that age. He did lack in certain areas, and he did not yet have experience in the field. He was rude and brash, committed to push himself to the limit to prove himself to Yakov, to the agency, to himself, Viktor didn’t know. He suspected he’d never know.

 

“Well, he is Eros, that much is confirmed. We received that information from the Italians,” Mila answers. “But there is a possibility of him having at least one accomplice; in his codes there’s a recurring symbol that kind of looks like a hamster,” she says, making it sound more like a question rather than a statement.

 

Viktor knew about Eros, of course. Eros was a conundrum, a force deep in the digital world, an entity with the power to cause shifts in the global stock markets, to strip Air Force One of its flagrant security breaching countermeasures.

 

That explained it, Viktor thought; only a senior hacker of that caliber would leave something akin to a virus to infest in Viktor’s brain, making him unable to shake the other agent out of his mind for the past days.

 

“His game is way beyond yours, kid.” Chris reaches out to ruffle his hair and Yuri hisses in response.

 

“I’m not a kid, you fossil! Soon I’ll surpass you all, you two are basically one foot in the grave already!” he shouted at Chris and Viktor, blatantly ignoring that Yakov not much older than their ages combined.

 

“ _‘Fossil’_? Really? Seriously, who let this child sit in here? Was it a ‘bring-your-most-annoying-kid-to-work’ day today?”

 

“I’m fifteen, you sad fuck.”

 

“Yura, language!” Yakov chastised him.

 

“My point exactly,” Chris responded simultaneously.

 

“You’re all children! Stop riling him up, are these the kinds of role models you want to be for him?” Yakov shouted.

 

“What role models? Them? They’re ancient artifacts! They even use _dinosaur_ names as code names in honour of their long gone friends, I’m sure!”

 

“Could you shut up or do you want me to deadlift you again?” Mila took a step closer to him and Yuri immediately shied away. Yakov rubs at his temples.

 

“This is the information we were able to gather about your _enchanting_ foe, what are you going to do now, then?” Chris asks. Viktor looks back to the image, and then to Yakov.

 

“Do you think he’s dangerous? Is he that much of a threat?”

 

Yakov sighed, “Vitya, Katsuki is already an incredibly talented hacker, if he now has operative agent training, and knows who you are, there is no place you can be safe anymore. Any situation involving him is precarious. Somehow, he knew you’d be there in Moscow, and somehow, he has outdone you. _You._ I won’t let you go out on another mission while he’s still an uncertainty,” Yakov says sternly. “You can stay here and start thinking more about what this might mean for you.”

 

What goes unspoken are his worries about Viktor and the fact that the ambiguity of his future has never been more threatened until now.

 

“I don’t want to stay here,” Viktor stubbornly replies, and Yakov forces himself to crush his own desire to wrap his hands around Viktor’s neck.

 

Yakov Feltsman, the man Viktor had looked up to like a father, had watched over Viktor from a young age. While his methods of parenthood could be questioned, he had his roundabout ways of talking sense into Viktor. By now, Yakov should have know that it was near futile to make Viktor do anything else once he’d set his mind to something.

 

In the end, what he decided to do could work with Yakov, he trusted Viktor enough to make smart and quick decisions, but the higher-ups were starting to consider if his lax restraint and arrogant attitude to his responsibilities could damage the organization. Yakov knew Viktor had started taking bigger risks during missions, something else which the higher-ups did not like very much. Viktor wasn’t _sloppy,_ couldn’t afford being sloppy, but he was becoming restless.

 

They couldn’t afford to lose an asset like him. Maybe it was time for Viktor to consider doing something other than field work, maybe be a trainer? Or a comms support?

 

That was the life of an agent. You train, you do your work, and if you don’t die, you deteriorate into a shell of the agent you used to be, while you support those who surpassed you.

 

Deviances were uncommon, but existed all the same.

 

Viktor had started feeling chained to his responsibilities, knew that he was stuck in a loop, constantly reliving the echo of his thunderous career.

 

But now the unknown force of wonder that was Yuuri Katsuki had come into his life, unexpectedly and unreasonably. Viktor knew how this industry worked, knew that when it came down to rivalry it eventually was kill or be killed. If Yuuri had bested him, he could either stay hunted or become the hunter. Yakov had been adamant that he stayed in Saint Petersburg, he knew that there were other things for VIktor to do than get hung up on some Japanese agent.

 

So it was time to finally retire?

 

Yuuri had given Viktor a challenge, a reason to throw himself back into work despite him previously not wanting to.

 

“Vitya, if you leave you know I won’t be able to protect you for much longer. Please just listen to me this once ―”

 

“I am going to do this.” Viktor stood up, height towering the older man. The intimidation tactic had no potency on the older man; he didn’t even raise his eyebrows. For a fraction of a second, Yakov saw a flicker of insecurity behind his cerulean eyes, the worry that Viktor did something he shouldn’t have, and for an instant Yakov is taken back to when the two of them first met.

 

Viktor had only been a shivering slip of a boy, a skeleton of the man he was to become. He was a child who had already seen too much of war and destruction, but that only lit a burning flame of determination in his icy eyes. He had forced himself to be the best, to better than the best.

 

In their stare Yakov and Viktor hold a fierce debate, one that supersedes words in any language. It was a bargain on Viktor's part, and a plea from Yakov. 

 

The stubborn flame was long since gone, vanished with year after year of mindless work, surveillance, robbery or protection or assassination, report and repeat. Yakov might be old and his eyesight might be worsening, but in that moment he saw a tiny spark of what used to be there. A spark of obsolete determination; the answering call for the promise of a challenge. He sighed again. Viktor was probably the sole reason for him having lost so much hair over the years.

 

“He’s not much more of an uncertainty than I am, the ball is in my park now.” Viktor finally speaks up.

 

“Vitya, you’re asking for the impossible and you know it.”

 

“Why are you so against him leaving? You always want him gone,” Yuri interjects.

 

“Because I have always known this idiot will make it back. Katsuki is the wake up call to prove that you’ve been given too much freedom,” he jabs a finger straight at Viktor’s chest.

 

“You can’t keep me in Saint Petersburg, ― no, in _Russia,_ ― and you know it. I need to be out there and tell them that I can’t be bested that easily,” Viktor begun, but Yakov wouldn’t let him finish.

 

“You’re incorrigible, I wish I never had to see you again for as long as I live.”

 

“You’re letting him go?” Mila sits up. The odd phrasing throws none of them off, but the offhand permission is still a surprise.

 

“You’re saying that as if he actually could keep him here,” Chris pipes in.

 

“It’s not even certain that he’ll have a conflicting mission next, how are you going to find him? And what happens when the shit actually hits the fan? There are no more places for you to run, old fart,” Yuri seethes.

 

Viktor only smiles again, and it looks more real,― more present, ― than he’d managed previously. “Who says I’m running?”

 

Chris lets out a whoop and Yakov slaps a file on the table loudly. “You’re going to India next. I won’t be able to protect you much longer, Vitya. Find out what he wants and get the job done,” Yakov says as Chris starts digging through the file. "Get your team and gear, you fly out in three hours."

  
Yuuri Katsuki did not understand what game he had thrown himself into. Somehow, someone is going to get hurt, badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the coming weeks I have two really big exams, so it's going o take a bit longer to crank out new chapters and I really don't know when the next chapter will be out.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have commented or given kudos, every time I get notifications my heart goes '!!!!!!'

**Author's Note:**

> Um so I'll try to update this when I can? This is my first ever published fic so if you have any thoughts, pointers, constructive cristicism, anything really, please leave a comment?? I'll probably love u forever ngl
> 
> Also in the blue hell I’m @eriemis come yell with me.


End file.
